


Affection

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexuality, Crushes, Friendship, Gen, Teen Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Sam isn't prepared for. Interpersonal intimacy being one of them.</p><p>Sam is 14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affection

Dirk isn't the only jerk Sam takes down in school. The tiny spot of blood on his hand after dealing with Mark Wolfe was testament to that. 

"Freak" had set him off with Dirk. Here, it's something a little more socially conscious.

Sam's quiet, and he likes being that way most of the time. He likes to make friends, but since he can't keep them, he mostly settles for doing some good.

If you call punching people good. Sometimes, it is. Just ask Dad and Dean. Sam doesn't find it to be a very effective teaching method as far as emotions go, and the things he does that piss them off were usually either unintentional or so intentional a punch isn't going to do much good, but sometimes when he's scared he wants to stand up for something and then he takes it too far.

And sometimes it feels good.

You don't call a guy a fag. You don't accuse him of things he probably wasn't doing. And you certainly don't say guys who like guys deserve to be locked up.

That statement was the one Mark Wolfe chose to end on, because it was the last one he made before Sam struck.

Sam watches the shock, and he sees the guy finish changing into his clothes begrudgingly before leaving the cool locker room. Somehow, Sam knows he's not going to be told on. Mark Wolfe has a bigger sense of ego-preservation than that. 

But, of course, in an effort to prove there was no reason he or anyone else should be locked up, he'd done something that should have gotten him locked up.

You shouldn't really hit civilians. Only soldiers. Even if they were jerks. 

Everything is quiet in his corner now. He still has his shirt off. Kids who haven't even learned his name yet stare at him, then finish getting dressed.

"Not that that wasn't nice and all," a voice calls from behind Sam, full of lisped sibilants and more strength that Sam would have expected, "but, Sam." Sam turns to look at him over his shoulder, takes in the honest brown eyes, the plastic frames of his glasses. He'd almost forgotten about the kid he'd stood up for, in all the rush of trying to stand up for himself. 

"I really was looking at his penis," he says, unblinking.

If Sam had felt a rush of heat hearing those things being said, if he'd felt one reacting to the words and reacting to his own reaction, this heat is stronger, more encompassing.

He really does deserve to be put away, far away from civilized society. 

Just why the hell was this dorky kid checking out another guy in the locker room? Well, okay. Hormones. Of course, hormones. Public pubic perusal was never really something Sam had been interested in, but, of course, everyone in every town was a stranger to him, and maybe if it was a long-time classmate his eyes might stray now and then. Or, then again, maybe not.

If you do that, you don't usually admit to it, though. That's private. Or is it creepier if it's a secret? And what's the protocol on that honesty when the guy catches you and accuses you and he's actually right? Sam groans softly. 

"It was a nice punch."

"I practice," Sam says vaguely. He turns to face Eddie. It's not Eddie's fault Sam jumped into the situation. Maybe Eddie would have apologized, once Mark let him get a word in, if that ever happened. It hadn't felt good, though. It hadn't felt right, watching Mark go on and on.

"Stop me next time _before_ I make an ass of myself, huh?" 

"It happened pretty quickly, to be fair," Eddie says. His voice is teasing, pleasant. He's not mad at Sam for interrupting. He looks oddly satisfied. "Maybe you jumped to a conclusion, but, hey, at least you jump."  


Sam's not sure that's a good thing. But at least someone else thinks it is.

***

Eddie Contreras is the gayest kid Sam has ever met in terms of culture. He can't speak for the kid's actual level of attraction to men, since that's up to Eddie, but the kid just _breathes_  stereotypically gay in a way Sam thought never happened in real life, and it's interesting. Plus, Dean finds it annoying, so Sam invites the kid over as often as possible, and they go over to Eddie's too, which is just a few blocks away.  


Eddie is not only lispy and forward, he's also a complete nerd, which is kind of Sam's speed. He has a big house and like five sisters who like to argue and dance to the radio and a lot of throw pillows and Sam's still discovering new things about the kid's room every time he shows up, which is amazing, considering the fact Sam's never had a room of his own ever.

They talk about classes and sci-fi and horror movies and what it's like to be the new kid and what it's like to be known as the gay kid and when Sam finally decides to admit that he likes guys sometimes, Eddie just gives him this _look_.

"You agreed Shane Coleman was hot, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Eddie makes people want to talk. He makes them want to share, to debate, to offer. To admit.

"Well, I do," Sam sighs. "Like them."

"Never told anyone before?"

"Not in so many words, I guess," Sam says.

"It's kind of freeing, isn't it? Now, tell me about your first crush on a boy."

"No," Sam says, and Eddie sits up, leaving the throw pillow on the ground. 

Sam's never said no to him at any point in their conversations. He's lied, he's hesitated, he's blurted out and regretted it, but he's never said no.

Eddie seems to really want to challenge Sam. He sizes Sam up for a good minute. It would be interesting, to try and push, if not friendly. He looks poised, the way he is about sci-fi theories.

"Well, I've had a lot, myself," he finally says, not changing the subject, but not pushing. "I think there was a boy in kindergarten it probably started with."

"That far back?!" Sam can't even remember crushing on a girl until...well, sometime between seventh grade and now. It always seemed pretty pointless, though. He was no Dean; he couldn't do casual.

"Jimmy. From gym. But, he's not actually my type, now that I have a type."

"But _Mark_  is?"

"No," Eddie says honestly. "I guess in certain ways, but, no, not in ones that matter. You're kind of my type. But," he continues, seeing Sam's quiet interpersonal panic, "I'm not wooing you here. I'm just trying to talk. You're cool. Any guy who punches a guy for you is one to keep your eye on."

Sam stares, numb from the confession. He's not sure what to do. He's never had anyone admit to liking him like this, not someone he knows. Sometimes, a girl who thinks he's cute might send a note or write a special note in a Valentine or purposefully drop something so he'll have to pick it up or she'll keep talking to him about comics until he has to excuse himself, but no one has ever said he's their type after knowing him, least of all a friend.

There's a hand at Sam's shoulder, and instead of upsetting him further, it's calming. "I'm not asking you out. I'm not asking for kissing practice." Sam's eyes dart to Eddie's lips. He doesn't really want to kiss them. "All I'm doing is talking about boys with a boy who likes boys. Okay?"

Sam breathes. He takes deep breaths and does his best to shake the fear of too much intimacy, and too much admiration. It's just too weird. It's too new.

"But if you don't stop freaking out, I _might_  kiss you. Just to get you angry," he says, and even that kind of works. Sam feels about half a milliamp of indignation flick across his internal wires. He doesn't know where it disappears to after that.

"Okay," Sam says. "Sorry."

"Hungry?" Eddie asks, standing. He helps Sam up, and that's that.

***

"Don't you have anyone you keep in touch with who's your own age?"

"No," Sam admits. "No one."

"Just those friends of your dad's. Well, are any of them cute?"

Sam grips his can of soda. "Yes." The sound is small, reluctant.

It's sincere.

"Do you watch them work on cars or practice shooting?"

Sam nods. Eddie doesn't know he's also seen them kill creatures, and recite spells. "They're not _all_ sweaty and heroic or whatever you said. One of them's even a pastor." He stares at the top of the can, into the hole.

He pauses, looks back at Eddie, who watches Sam avidly. "What's he like? Is he nice, like they're supposed to be?"

"Oh. It's not him. It's...uh." How to describe him? "A guy with an old house filled with all these books."

"Books?"

"These weird research books. And he's always got at least two open bottles of alcohol lying around, but he won't let us have any. He and my dad secretly hate each other. _Not_ secretly," he corrects. "They respect each other, but he gets so mad at my dad, and I like that." Sam's pulse starts to quicken just admitting it. 

It's bad to like that someone challenges John. But, then, Sam's bad. "He knows what I need sometimes, when my family doesn't care. You know? We don't even see _holidays_  the same way. And, this guy?" He glances at Eddie, shy, "he sees them the way they do, but he also sees what I see, so he'll try and make life okay again, the way my brother used to try, only he's better at it." Guiltily he looks down at the floor, at Eddie's abandoned lime green throw pillow. It isn't Dean's fault he had to help raise Sam. But it's not Sam's fault Dean wasn't great at it all the time either.

"Is he hot?" Eddie dares to ask.

"My brother? Oh," he realizes. He takes a drink of the cold Pepsi, suddenly warm with embarrassment again. "He's strong, and he's...bigger. But he has this...smile. It's just for me. And he has," he pauses, "beautiful hands. They're kind of delicate, actually. I don't think he was meant to...be a mechanic," he substitutes quickly. "I think his life was going to be softer, and more pretty. Like a normal person's. But, it's not."

He's seen pictures of Mrs. Singer in the attic, and of Bobby when he was young.

He takes in a deep breath, swallowing. Out of him rushes the words, "If he knew about... _this_ , he wouldn't let me call him Uncle Bobby anymore because...I'm not....," He wasn't respecting the familial term, or Bobby's authority, or their personal distance. "I don't know why I have to see good things and make them not special anymore. I always do this." His tone is quiet, vicious. It's aimed only at himself. Bowing his head, he presses the fingers of his free hand against his eyes. 

He's gonna cry now. Just what the evening needs in the middle of such a confession. He didn't want to think about all the good things, the good feelings, associated with Bobby, but now he has, and they're multiplying, and the big fight that just happened between Dad and Bobby might mean they never see him again, and even if they do, will Bobby be able to tell how Sam feels? It's so horrifying he can't even believe he put it into words.

"Naw." 

Sam glances over, gaze clouded with tears about to fall. What would Eddie know about it anyway?

"He sounded plenty special, the way you described him. Having a crush like that makes a lot of sense."

Sam's crying over a cold can of Pepsi, and his new friend's there with a comforting hand again. "It makes crushing on teachers seem kind of flighty," he admits.

Sam wishes he had that freedom, the freedom to be normal and have normal relationships at normal distances with normal people whose lives weren't always in transition or in danger or states and states and highways away. 

"I don't know if he's hot," Sam admits, voice squeaking. "I just know he's the best friend I have."

Eddie pulls even closer, takes the soda from Sam and puts it on the nightstand, encourages Sam to cry into his shoulder.

"I see why you didn't wanna talk now," Eddie admits, voice light. He rubs at Sam's back.

Eddie's sister comes by to remind them once again that they need to keep the door open when Eddie has a boy in his room. When she sees Sam's crying, though, she stops short. "You're a good kid," she mutters to her brother, shutting the door again.

Sam is thinking vaguely about how he agrees with her assessment when Eddie says, "You're a good kid, too." 

Sam doesn't believe that, in general. But for a few hours, stretching into when he gets home that night and Dean's making fun of their friendship, maybe even for the next couple days, before he finds himself packing up to head to the next town of strangers with a dad who never even met Eddie, he believes he doesn't deserve to be locked up. 


End file.
